Wyrda's Fricai
by StriderX
Summary: A tale before the chaos. In the first book and beginning of second, we find the impression that Murtagh and Nasuada fancy each other greatly. But what really occurred on that first meeting of the two? Innocent fun...Enjoy!


**A/N:** Murtagh fans! Haha...yes, I am obviously one of those who finds Murtagh _much_ more interesting and attractive then Eragon. :) This is just a short untold scene between Murtagh and Nasuada during their first meeting. Written purely for innocent fun. Enjoy! (I hope)

**Disclaimer:** Are these things really necessary? Everybody know's I don't own anything but my notebook and pen...really, if it were mine, I wouldn't very well be posting on FanFic, now would I?

**Warnings: **Slight spoiler for the last couple chapters of _Eragon_, but that's about it...nothing degrading here.

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**Wyrda's Fricai  
**(Fate's Friend)

**By: StriderX**

It had been nearly three days since Murtagh found himself imprisoned by the Varden. Though, it was not as if he minded too much. Yes, anger found him in the beginning, but now...he had to admit, it was nice to be able to finally relax without any fear to tense him. It may have also helped that his prison cell was nothing short of a suite fit for a king. The large room was windowless, but pleasantly lit by an adequate amount of soft lanterns glowing here and there. Soft blankets covered the thin-mattressed bed and a warm rug draped over the cold marble floor. Cramping the writing desk in the corner was a pile of books and scrolls of all sorts and kinds.

Murtagh had no idea of what time it may have been; he knew only of how engrossed he was in an old dwarven fairy tale penned in a leather-bound book. He had been reading for hours, and would read for hours more, for all it mattered to him. Though, a thought dwindled between the pages, he would admit, he was beginning to feel quite lonely. The only contact he had had with anyone over the last days was through the two guards standing post outside his door; and even that was very brief. Tearing his eyes off the old parchment, he let his head fall back to lean against the wall and closed his eyes. When lashes met, flashes of the last month's memory instantly collided with his mind. He had met a dragon! An actual dragon! Not only that, but he had traveled with her and her Rider. Yes, then there was Eragon. He hadn't been sure of him in the time after Brom's death. After all, he was a dragon rider who carried Zar'roc; the cursed sword of Morzan. For all Murtagh could have known, Eragon could have been nothing better then that of the last Rider to bear that sword. The scar marring his back seemed to ache at the thought of the blade's ferocious power and even bloodier history. Still, over the last month, he had come to trust Eragon and his dragon; even to view them as friends. The thought struck him suddenly and a soft smile grew across his graceful features in result. It had been too long since he could call anyone friend. Maybe this was the start of even more new joys to be had.

In strange coincidence of his thoughts, there was a airy knock on the hard wooden door of his room. Opening his eyes, he found his dark hair rebelliously falling around his face; creating a curtain around said intense pale blue eyes.

"Come in," he called lightly, despite the knowings that whoever was knocking would come in anyway.

As routine would make it, he had expected one of the guards to enter with something of either food or book. In such belief, his heart nearly jumped when the figure to shyly enter the room was most certainly _not _either of the stout, male guards he had been expecting. An eyebrow unconsciously raised and foolish grin spread as a young woman close to his age took a step toward him; the door closing behind. Murtagh made a move to greet her, but found her beauty too striking to find words. She was slender, but not lacking in the curves that would make a woman attractive. A gold-trimmed burgundy dress fell over her like a second skin; the only thing to break its endless waves being a jewel encrusted dagger hanging from a warn belt at her hip. Flawless skin the colour of deep summer soil accentuated the striking features and almond eyes of her face. Even her ebony hair, braided intricately down her back, was stunning to Murtagh. "I bring good tidings, Murtagh," threatening to throw him into a trance, her words flowed like honey through Murtagh's ears. "My name is Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad," she said confidently; standing with back straight and hands interlaced at her waist. "I have come to bring you a message from my father."

Realizing his cue to speak, Murtagh shook his head of the tendrils of entrancing thoughts and moved to stand in respect for the lady. In a single graceful step, he pushed from his seat on the bed and stood with bare feet on the gentle rug beneath. "What message would be of such import that Ajihad would send such a beautiful young woman to the depths of my lavish prison?" his words were smooth and kind through the barely hidden grin parting his lips.

Nasuada seemed surprised by the sly compliment; her head bowing for a moment in attempt to hid her blushing cheeks and appreciative smirk. Murtagh's grin only grew as his words stemmed their desired effect. "My father has decreed that you may have visitor's here, if you would like. In the privacy of our own conversation, he thanks you for not causing any undue trouble during your confinement. He understands that it would be difficult to remain in such a solitude for any longer of a time and be expected to continue with such peace."

Murtagh beamed at the words. It would be good to talk with someone other then the company of his own mind again. "Thank you for the message, m'lady," he could hardly contain the glee in his words. "Please tell Ajihad that I am most grateful. Books only provide so much company," he added with a laugh.

Nasuada giggled softly; Murtagh could tell that she was doing her best to hide her amusement in as regal a way possible. "I will be happy to relay the message." A comfortable silence fell between them for a moment as they subconsciously locked gazes through friendly eyes.

Part of Murtagh never wanted this moment to end; he found her eyes so strong, so full of wisdom and life. "Would you like to sit?" he mindlessly motioned to a chair by the desk.

For a long time, it seemed as if Nasuada was fighting a battle within herself. In the moment, this dark, mysterious man before her proved to be more intriguing then any other she had ever met. She knew of his past—who he was and a great deal of the things he had been through—yet, here he was, standing before her with the most innocent of bright grins she had ever seen. In that moment, she wanted nothing more then to stay and learn more about this Murtagh; this enigma. But in the very thought that moved her to stay, another, stronger mind of wisdom pulled her otherwise. She had duties to attend to, and besides...such a private meeting between her and the son of a Forsworn was not something her father would approve of; no matter how kind, how handsome he might be. "Thank you, but I am afraid I must take my leave. There are many duties that require my attention."

Murtagh's expression seemed to fall for a passing thought. Her word's disappointed him, but he was still determined to be of the gentlemanly sort, nonetheless. "Then I must thank you again, m'lady, for taking the such valuable energy out of your day to brighten my own," his tone was genuine and sincere; a fact that did not go beyond Nasuada's flushing admiration.

She wished so badly to speak more, but she knew herself too well to allow it. If another word crossed her berry-stained lips, she would never leave. Forcing herself against her wishes, she gathered up the sides of her gown and curtsied politely before giving him once last flirtatious glance in parting and leaving through the thick door that had changed her heart forever. As she left, a new, vibrant emotion rushed in a torrent of color within her, distant to the likes she had never touched before.

Left again to his thoughts, Murtagh stood, unmoving, with glazed eyes and dreamy expression for a while too long to remember. Nasuada. Princess of the Varden; keeper of his heart. The single woman he would ever desire to one day call wife.

**The End**

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**A/N2: **Now, if you'd be so kind and press that little button down there and leave a quick review before you go, I'd very much appreciate it. Thankx for the interest!

Strider


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